Now, Never, No More
by Kitty Daniels
Summary: The strange way the duress of death brings about words that might have otherwise been left unspoken. Filler Oneshot.


_**I kinda forgot that I finished this months ago, and I'm in a pretty happy mood right now (I recently met Mr. Daniels himself [Corey Johnson!]), so I figured I'd post this. :)**_

 _ **This could technically be considered a direct prequel to my last fic,**_ **Last Call,** _ **if I were actually putting these things in order. I still have no sense of chronology. -_- Anyway, this filler scene is meant to be the last moments between Daniels and Henderson while they're keeping watch over Evelyn in her room. I'm really not sure how much time elapses between them being left there and when Daniels goes down for his drink (although I'm assuming the gap is long for a few reasons, but I don't want to draw it out too much), so forgive me if the fic seems too long or too short. I'm personally not too thrilled with the ending; I think it's kinda abrupt, but I couldn't think of a better way to finish it, so I may end up editing it down the road. -_- References a few of my other fics as well as the novel (since the spleen anecdote makes a return XD). Focuses mostly on Daniels.**_

 _ **Daniels/Henderson: © Stephen Sommers**_

 _ **Grace, Cora, William & Anna are of my own imagination **_

**Now, Never, No More**

Noise. So much of it. A cacophony of shrill shouts and pounding fists from behind those double doors mingled with the grating grind of molars in his aching head. Crackling like harsh static in his ears. He gripped the key hard, metal digging into calloused flesh, knowing that setting her free would finally shut her up.

"Don't even think about it, Dave."

Daniels bristled his posture stiffly, sorely tempted to turn that key in the lock and just cut the Carnahan woman loose. "Ye're tellin' me you can stand to listen to that bearcat's hollerin'?" he snapped, narrowing his cobalt eyes on Henderson.

"You wanna keep yer spleen?" the tow-headed American countered with his own glare, twirling a Havana cigar between his fingers.

Daniels scoffed bitterly, pocketing the key and tucking his shirt back into his pants with some difficulty thanks to his wounded left arm. Grabbing him unceremoniously by the collar, O'Connell had threatened both he and Henderson with certain disembowelment should they fail to adequately keep watch over Miss Carnahan while he went in search of their wayward Egyptologist. Daniels didn't take the threat seriously, although he was slightly unnerved by the pure bloodlust he caught flashing through the mercenary's eyes. _If looks could kill…_

Henderson lit the cigar, took a liberal puff off it before returning his attention back to his friend.

Stiff as a wired sentry by the double doors.

Daniels had understandingly been more noticeably on edge and anxious for the last several days, given the terrifying climate of their circumstances. To Henderson though, it was an annoying out-of-character display more than anything. He knew Daniels to be short-tempered, but not to the point of near hysteria.

"Jesus Daniels, take a seat, will ya? She ain't goin' nowhere," he said irately. He fished through his pockets, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and throwing it to Daniels. "Relax an' have a light."

Daniels grumbled something inaudibly under his breath, stepping away from the doors and towards Henderson as the carton came flying his way. He caught it awkwardly, opened it and extracted a cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth, leaning down as Henderson lit it up for him. Drew in the breath deeply. Smoke enveloping his lungs like a sinner's beckoning embrace. The placating moment was short-lived, the rattling of the doors and Miss Carnahan's muffled, angry prattling filling his ears once again. His head turned sharply, jaw clenched hard. "Goddamnit, if that harlot doesn't _shut up_ -"

"Just ignore her, fer God's sake. Now ye're makin' _me_ antsy," Henderson huffed.

Daniels snarled, a deep growl rising up from his chest. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous this whole thing is, Buck? We're stuck babysittin' O'Connell's girlfriend while we could be gettin' our asses outta here!"

Henderson raised a calm eyebrow. "What d'ya expect to do, Dave? Our boat ain't leavin' fer another day."

"Then I'll _swim_ across the fuckin' ocean if I have to. Every moment we waste here in this hellhole is another moment that...that _thing_ could be usin' to hunt us down!" Daniels's normally baritone voice seemed to go up several octaves. Blood thundering through his veins. Charcoal hair standing on end like that along a cornered cat's spine. "O'Connell said it himself, he'd rather gamble with his Goddamn life anyways. Let him play the hero if he so chooses, but I ain't." He stopped only a moment to heave a large, trembling breath. "D'ya wanna end up like Bernard?!"

Henderson snapped his head up so quickly he thought he'd given himself whiplash. He held a cold glare on Daniels, feeling his emotions stirring as they brought about the eyeless, tongueless image of their deceased friend _._ _Jesus, why'd ya have to bring him up?_ The loss of Burns at the hands of the creature had hit Daniels harder than Henderson expected, prompting Daniels to be unnaturally tight-lipped about what had happened to him.

Until now. "No, I don't," Henderson mumbled bitterly.

"So what the hell are we still doin' here fer then?"

Henderson shrugged helplessly, feeling a little put on the spot. "Dave, I...I don't know what to tell you. I'm just as tightly wound as you are on everything, ya know."

Still flustered, Daniels growled under his breath, "Fer bein' so upset, ya sure have a funny way a' showin' it."

An accusation that Henderson took great offense to. "Jus' because I don't pace an' snarl like a caged lion like you don't mean I still ain't broken up by Burns's death," he huffed, averting his eyes from his friend in disgust. "Thought you knew me better than that, Daniels."

But Daniels didn't seem to hear him. "We coulda helped him, Buck. We coulda done so much more fer him." Chest swelling rapidly, broad shoulders tensing.

"Like what, Daniels? I keep tellin' you, it's the boat-"

"Stop with the Goddamn boat already!" Daniels sneered angrily as he cut Henderson off. "That's jus' a sorry-ass excuse fer not tryin' a lil' harder to get 'im outta here! Bernard didn't deserve to die like that!" More knocking on the doors, the woman's berating voice still echoing from behind them. Making Daniels turn back towards it as he growled maliciously, "And _she's_ to blame fer all this!"

Henderson looked over at the doors as well, finding himself agreeing with his friend over Miss Carnahan's meddling with a certain tome that brought a certain undead bogeyman back from the depths of Hell. He of course wished he could've been able to save Burns from his cruel fate, but nothing could be done. There was no helping Burns anymore. Only themselves. Henderson sighed deeply, said with great restraint in his voice despite the hurt he felt from Daniels's words, "Stop gettin' yerself worked up over it. What's done is done. Ya need to give it a rest now, Dave."

"Don't you go tellin' me to give it a rest!" Daniels snapped, feeling the cords in his neck tightening. Heart pounding wildly. "None a' this woulda happened if that bossy bitch hadn't read from that Goddamn book!"

Henderson continued, calm as ever. "D'ya think losin' yer mind over somethin' beyond yer control is gonna help?"

It baffled Daniels really. How cool his friend could be in a dire situation and under incredible pressure. It was an enviable trait, especially for a hothead like himself. Bravery was never an issue for Daniels; he came from a lineage that consisted mainly of soldiers and frontiersmen, land speculators and Indian fighters. People who thrived on their impeccable sense of courage in the face of adversity, and he counted himself among them. But he grudgingly began to see Henderson's point. He shut his eyes, swallowed harshly, willed the knots in his stomach to loosen. _Just breathe, fer God's sake._

Henderson could tell his friend was trying hard to fight his inner turmoil. As he had been trying to tell Daniels earlier, he was just as agitated and panicked as he was. Unlike Daniels though, he didn't let his emotions get the better of him. "Have another cigarette an' sit down, will ya? Maybe it'll calm yer nerves."

"Yeah, yeah." Daniels scoffed, lumbered towards a chair and sat down heavily. He felt the heat of his temper cooling slowly, allowing rational thought to replace the brief grip of insanity that had been amalgamating around his mind. He looked at the box of cigarettes in his hand, hesitating before he seemed to reluctantly pull another one out. He stared blankly at it, his mind wandering to that inevitable place. "Grace hates these things," he muttered somewhat absentmindedly.

"Well what she don't know can't hurt her, right?" Henderson smirked, finishing his current cigar and reaching for another. His enduring sense of placidity was almost too strange to actually believe.

" _Hurt her_ ," Daniels mumbled, crushing the carton in his hand and throwing it to the floor like a bad news-riddled War Department telegram. The bullet wound in his arm felt like it was burning. "I've already hurt her enough."

Henderson gave him a curious look. "How d'ya mean?" he asked, mouth moving around the cigar in it.

"I _left_ her, Henderson. What man does that to his woman?"

It was still hard for Henderson to wrap his head around the fact that Daniels had been contentedly in a monogamous relationship for the last couple years, given his friend's well-known penchant for debauchery of all sorts. Henderson had his vices as well, but always thought of himself as more tame compared to Daniels. "I left Cora, didn't I? You ain't the only one who left his woman behind. Don't feel too bad about it," Henderson said reassuringly.

Daniels shuddered at the mention of that name. He wasn't particularly fond of Henderson's girlfriend, Cora. To Daniels, she was all jutting collarbones, short, bobbed brown hair and layers of caked-on rouge but with the charm of a fish out of water. She was enamoured with his friend and his curious embodiment of the Western _vaquero_ , but had more than once threatened to leave Henderson if he didn't get in on the more lucrative bootlegging deals that were offered to him. A lowbrow tactic, in Daniels's opinion. What Henderson saw in her, he'd never know. Although it was Cora who had introduced him to the woman he now called his fiancée, he still had yet to completely warm up to her.

 _My fiancée..._ Daniels felt himself become so full of longing for Grace, pining for the way she brought all of his senses to life. For the scent of the fragrant blooms of Indian blanket and bluebonnet that Grace liked to weave through the long tresses of her ash-blonde hair. The sweet taste of her lips on his in a delightfully caramelized show of affection. The soft pressure of her body against his and her whispering voice as they lay outside beneath a starry blanket on the warmer nights. The welcome vision of her in his mind's eye that hadn't left him since the day he said goodbye.

"You had a good reason. I didn't," Daniels mumbled.

Henderson gave him an incredulous look. Staring from behind a veneer of cigar smoke. Masking his face like a hazy shroud. "We _all_ had the same reason. The Goddamn eighteenth amendment. What're ya gettin' at?" He distinctly remembered Daniels being just as enthusiastic as him to leave when the idea was brought up.

Daniels rolled his eyes, folding his arms over the broad plane of his chest with some difficulty thanks to the searing bullet wound in his left arm. Became suddenly deathly quiet for a moment. "Ferget I mentioned it." _Ain't none a' his business anyways._

Leaning forward through the swirling smoke. "Ferget what?" Henderson prodded.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Buck."

"You brought it up, Daniels. Just tell me!"

Henderson flinched back sharply when Daniels turned a biting glare on him. Guilt visibly burning in those steel-blue irises. Bottled emotions erupting. "Fer Christ's sake Henderson, I think I left her pregnant! That enough to tell?!" He jumped up suddenly, storming over to the open window. Slumped against the dirty frame. His voice then softened as he said, "I jus' don't know fer certain."

Choking silence as Henderson searched for the right words to say. He certainly wasn't expecting to hear that. "Well…what makes you think she is? Did she...tell you?"

"Of course she didn't," Daniels growled, breathing hard through his nose. "My gut jus' tells me she is." He paused, images flooding his racing mind. "She didn't look well the night I left. Somethin' jus' didn't seem right, the way she was huggin' herself."

"Jesus Christ, Dave. Ya told her you were leavin' the country. Of course she's gonna look sick. So did Cora, 'til I told her I'd bring her back somethin' nice," Henderson snorted dismissively, continuing to chain-smoke on his Havanas. Still blissfully ignorant as ever.

Daniels bristled, whirling around to face his friend with a world-class look of confusion. "So ye're tellin' me if ya knocked up Cora, you wouldn't be panicking in the least?"

Henderson laughed darkly, a strangely jovial sound that had Daniels arching his eyebrows. "I ain't _that_ stupid, Daniels. Cora ain't exactly the motherly type, ya know. Didn't think you were the fatherly type either honestly."

Daniels grunted sardonically. "Well, as long as ya ain't that stupid."

Henderson always found it amusing how much it irked Daniels just hearing Cora's name, much less being around her. For some peculiar reason, knowing his best friend couldn't stand his girlfriend didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. "You really don't like her, do ya?"

"No, I don't," Daniels answered shortly.

"Why?"

A deep sigh, harsh and annoyed. "Why d'ya care?"

Henderson leaned back casually in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. Still and relaxed like nothing was amiss with his shirt open down to his chest. A stark contrast to his friend's tightly buttoned-at-the-throat collar and starchy posture. "Well hell, if we're gonna end up dead out here in God's sandbox, might as well lift some weights off our shoulders." He gave Daniels an expectant look. "Go on, tell me."

"Alright, fine. Since we're gettin' shit off our chests…" Daniels retorted, placing his hands on his hips. "I think she's a sneaky, gold-diggin' whore who's more interested in livin' a fantasy than acceptin' reality."

Henderson chuckled again, running a hand through his tousled shock of blonde hair. "Gee, you sure are hard to impress. I know she ain't no saintly Irish Angelica like Grace, but I still love her."

"Yeah, an' that's exactly why she plays you like a fiddle," Daniels huffed. Some shouting and bustling from outside the window caught his attention briefly, loud arguments between compound soldiers and restless natives. Sounds that made him realize the Carnahan woman had finally quieted down inside her double-doored prison. _Tradin' one irritatin' noise for another,_ he thought sullenly to himself.

Henderson shrugged half-heartedly. "Well maybe _you_ see her that way, but I don't. Otherwise I wouldn't still be with her."

"Yeah, yeah." Daniels didn't want to talk about it anymore. He just wanted out. Out of this crazy nightmare of being hunted by a life force-sucking, undead terror. Out of this Godforsaken country and back home to Texas to his beloved family home. The same home his ancestors founded in Béxar County in the 1830s. The same home timberman William Hardee Daniels and his raven-haired wife Anna Cleburne lived in with their only son, David. The same home Daniels wanted to make for himself and Grace. Precious time was slipping away from him for his chance to get out of Egypt alive. Slipping away like the smooth grains of white gypsum sand that collected in the dusty glass bulb of the hourglass that sat on his father's weathered, oak wood secretary. Ominous and nerve-wracking. _I jus' want out._

There were no more words spoken (save for some small talk here and there that ended up going nowhere), both of them allowing a lengthy silence to endure between them. Henderson continued chain-smoking whilst Daniels stayed by the windows. Not a peep from Miss Carnahan. Silence.

A sense of time seemed to evade him, the ever-looming darkness falling over the city jarring Daniels into realizing that he had lost track of the hour. He felt the agitation rising again, his knuckles rapping compulsively on the window frame. _How much longer can O'Connell possibly be?_ He heaved a massive sigh, wincing when the taut muscles in his wounded arm started throbbing again. Swallowing hard when the craving for alcohol began to stalk him.

"Ya think he's dead?"

Daniels arched an eyebrow, turning to stare at Henderson. He was grinding casually on a tobacco chew, having gotten bored with the cigars. "Who?"

"Chamberlin. He's just as screwed as us, ya know."

Daniels grunted dismissively, looking back out the window. Eyes growing dark with apathy. "I don't give a shit about that stuff-shirted limey. He was stupid enough to take off on us so he deserves whatever's comin' to him."

"Ya think it's a waste a' time lookin' fer him then?" Henderson, tiredly placing his chin in his hand. Jaw still working away on the tobacco.

Daniels huffed irately, questions of the obvious among the things he hated entertaining. "No shit, ya think?"

Henderson continued with his train of thought. "An' what about Gabor?"

Daniels bristled visibly. Another name that delighted in filling his stomach with the illest of feelings. "Fuck him too, slimy, cow-hearted turncoat that he is," Daniels snarled.

A harsh but valid assessment that Henderson agreed with concerning their also missing guide, Beni. His listless grinding on the tobacco slowed until he suspended the mastication altogether, a bitterly sad smile gracing his angled, stubble-laden face. "We were fools to leave, weren't we?" he said softly, voice dripping with regret.

"We _are_ fools, Henderson. Goddamn fools with the glitter of gold in our eyes. We never shoulda came out here to this shithole," Daniels growled, his own sense of regret taking over him, tightening gradually like a noose around his neck. Waiting for the bottom of the gallows to drop down. A quicker and less painful death than of that at the grisly, fleshless hands of the creature... _Goddamn fools._

Henderson resumed gnawing on the tobacco, his casual state of being never faltering even as he picked up the falcon-headed canopic jar that was sitting at his feet. The same jar he had brought back from the City of the Dead. The only thing he had to show for all the misery and danger he had gone through to get just an ounce of the wealth hidden underneath those deadly sands. _Not even worth it,_ he thought with disillusion as he turned the jar over in his hands.

Daniels couldn't bring himself to even look at his jackal-headed jar, stored in a small, canvas pouch he had slung over his shoulder. He wanted more than anything to wash his hands of the entire Hamunaptra expedition, wanted to go home and resume his life with Grace as if nothing had even happened. Like the whole thing was one big, horrific nightmare that he'd finally wake up from. His eyes were shut tightly, knuckles rapping agitatedly on the window ledge, ears perking once more to the shouts coming from the compound courtyard.

And then, it snuck back up on him.

Threat of being sucked bone-dry or not, every alcohol-dependent cell in Daniels's body was screaming at him to break rank and nip the withdrawal in the bud whatever the cost, even if it meant leaving the relative safety of the Carnahan woman's quarters and risking O'Connell's wrath. It was time to clear his head, steady his nerves, do something to stop his fidgety, maddening behavior before it took complete control. Whether it would prove to be a stupid decision or not didn't seem to concern him. _By God, I need a Goddamn drink._

"The hell with this." Daniels whirled away from the window, all but storming over to the door as he pulled it open. "I'm goin' down stairs an' gettin' me a drink, because I can't take bein' caged in here."

Henderson lifted his eyes from his jar momentarily to look at his friend. "Guess ya ain't too worried about yer spleen anymore, huh?" he grinned crookedly. _He sure ain't worried about his liver, that's fer damn certain._

Daniels snorted, not amused. "You said it yerself, she ain't goin' nowhere. So screw O'Connell _and_ my spleen. It's a useless organ anyways."

Henderson humored him with an agreeing nod, adding in a quick jab, "Alright, as long as ya _ain't that stupid_."

To which Daniels impatiently rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, point taken. Now, d'ya want anythin' or not?"

 _No way I'm stayin' locked up in here no more._


End file.
